Words on Paper
by RubyFiamma
Summary: [8059] Yamamoto may be an adult, but he's not too old for bedtime stories.


Pairing : Yamamoto Takeshi/Gokudera Hayato

Warnings : Fluff, Kissing, Cuddling

Notes : For Kat

First Poem : Io v'amo sol perche by Torquato Tasso

Thanks to Lo-chan for the second poem, Now That You Have Come by Camillo Sbarbaro

**Words on Paper**

* * *

When Yamamoto slips into the room, exhausted and nearly dead on his feet, the only light offered is the soft amber bloom from the desk lamp on the bedside table and the ambient cadence of cicadas outside the window fill the bedroom.

Gokudera doesn't look up from his book, gentle shadows falling over his face in place of his hair that's been pinned back from his forehead. The light illuminates Gokudera's bare chest, gives the natural pale of his skin a radiant glow in the dusk. His glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose and there isn't an expression on his face that reveals the content of the book he's reading or if he's angry with Yamamoto for coming home late. He can tell though, that Gokudera isn't pleased, when he shuts the bedroom door behind him with a soft, "Hi," and gets no response in return.

Gokudera turns the page without a word, licking at his thumb before doing so. The book he's reading looks ancient. It's russet in colour, faded and frayed at the edges and spine with the slightest sheen of gilded calligraphy across the front of the book just beneath Gokudera's long and slender fingers.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Yamamoto tries again, peeling out of his suit jacket and tugging the knot of his tie loose.

"It's fine," Gokudera replies neutrally, but he still hasn't lifted his gaze off the page.

"The job took longer than expected," offers Yamamoto as he shrugs out of his dress shirt.

"I expected as much," says Gokudera, thumbing the next page. His voice is flat which makes Yamamoto frown.

"Are you mad at me?" he asks, tugging down his slacks and pulling off his socks. The rush of cooler air tingles his skin and for a moment makes him shiver; all the more reason to crawl into bed and huddle up alongside Gokudera under the heavy comforter but he pauses at the side of the bed and awaits Gokudera's answer.

"No," he says distantly, eyes still fixated on the book.

"Oh." Yamamoto frowns deeper, because he feels like there is something off about Gokudera but he won't press unless he has to.

He shifts towards the bed anyways, dips a knee in to the mattress tentatively as if to give Gokudera the time to deny him entry to their shared space if he really is upset. Gokudera says nothing, he doesn't move away or offer any other kind of rejection so Yamamoto leans in and presses his mouth to Gokudera's temple, inhaling the spice of Gokudera's hair. "I'm sorry I didn't call."

He can tell with the apology Gokudera's shoulders have relaxed, the tension he can see bleeding out as he moves to exhale; he even manages to get Gokudera to set down his book, turn his head so that his lips are brushing Yamamoto's. "I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to," Yamamoto laughs and Gokudera cuts it short, growling when he closes his mouth over Yamamoto's, book still in hand and the other tangling in his hair.

"Idiot," he huffs and licks against Yamamoto's mouth and tongue, tasting like smoke and sherry. Yamamoto has to pull at the sheets to keep himself from falling back and falling deeper into a hazy heat under Gokudera's mouth. It's over too soon when Gokudera moves away, straightens the glasses up over his nose and clears his throat. Yamamoto can't help but whimper a little with dismay.

"How did it go with the meeting? Everything okay?"

"Everything went smoothly," Yamamoto's answers, kissing at the corner of Gokudera's mouth. "I just got caught up back at the base."

Gokudera growls his response, pinches Yamamoto's lip between his teeth and jabs him in the side with the book he's been reading. "Then you have no excuse," he says with a smirk and pushes Yamamoto away only to go back to his reading. Yamamoto is laughing through it all, lifting the blankets up so he can slip underneath them and writhe around until he can find the perfect position, settling on curling around Gokudera's warm body, arm across his waist and nose pressed into the sharp curve of Gokudera's stomach.

"Stay still," Gokudera snaps, poking him in the shoulder with the book. "This isn't some kind of playground."

"What're you reading?" Yamamoto asks, his mouth stretching out into a yawn as Gokudera shifts further down the headboard to better accommodate Yamamoto's head in his lap. He slides an arm across Yamamoto's back and curls his fingers into Yamamoto's hair. They feel like ecstasy when Gokudera's fingertips scrape against his scalp and back, it has Yamamoto's eyes fluttering shut and him humming appreciation.

"A book," Gokudera mutters, his fingers stretching out from Yamamoto's hair and across his forehead. Yamamoto opens his eyes, tries to read the text but it's in an unfamiliar language, more likely Italian if he's guessing. It's old, well worn and well used and Yamamoto's certain he's seen the book before but he can't remember where. Gokudera's probably had it since they were kids, his memory is probably recalling all the times he's seen it somewhere in Gokudera's apartment when they were teenagers.

"I see that it's a book," Yamamoto answers curiously. "What is your book about?"

"Nothing," Gokudera says, snapping the book shut. He's reaching over to the bedside table to set down the book when Yamamoto grabs at Gokudera's wrist to pull his arm back.

"Read it to me," Yamamoto requests, looking up to catch the glittering green hidden behind the curtain of silvery black lashes before Gokudera looks away.

"No. It's in Italian, you wouldn't understand any of it." Gokudera doesn't snatch his arm back, instead he let's it fall into his lap beside Yamamoto's head.

It's an excuse, Yamamoto knows, so he asks again while dropping kisses to the flat of Gokudera's stomach, feeling the sharp inhale and shudder underneath his lips.

"Go to sleep," Gokudera insists, tugging at his hair. Yamamoto can feel the warm flush through his skin, he's pretty sure that the heat radiating off Gokudera is enough to put him to sleep after his long day, but having Gokudera read to him would make staying awake the extra minutes all worth while, as any time spent with Gokudera is.

"Please?" he whines, tightening his arms around Gokudera's slim waist and nuzzling into his stomach. He can smell the fresh soap and faint traces of gunpowder on Gokudera's skin, the temptation to lick against it is nearly too much to bear. If he wasn't so tired, he most likely would. "It doesn't matter that I can't understand. I just want to hear your voice."

"God," Gokudera laughs. "You're a complete sap."

"I know." Yamamoto smiles victory and closes his eyes.

"Fine," Gokudera grumbles, like Yamamoto expected, and he can feel the motion of Gokudera lifting the hand with the book but doesn't take the other out of his hair.

Yamamoto hums appreciation, keeps his cheek pressed to Gokudera's warm skin while he listens to murmur of his heart, soon replaced by the vibration of Gokudera speaking.

"_Io v'amo sol perchè voi siete bella, e perchè vuol mia stella, non ch'io speri da voi, dolce mio bene, altro che pene -_"

"You sound so beautiful," Yamamoto interrupts, dreamy and dazed like he's miles away. He feels like he is, with the cocoon of heat wrapped around him and Gokudera rubbing smooth circles against his scalp. The melody and steady rhythm of his voice takes out the usual grit of Gokudera's tone, replaced by a smooth and soft fluidity, almost like poetry. It makes Yamamoto sigh contently against Gokudera's hip and wish that moments like these would last forever.

"This... This isn't beautiful," Gokudera says like he's frowning and Yamamoto hears the book close. "I'll... I'll read you something different."

"O-okay," Yamamoto replies, confused but too tired to work out the details. He remains silent and still, the slow rhythm of Gokudera's breathing is like riding gentle waves in an ocean and the warmth from him is like having the sun beaming down and soaking into his skin. Every last bit of stress and tension has been completely drawn out of Yamamoto. He feels Gokudera draw in a breath and when he begins speaking, it's careful and deliberate as if he were reciting from memory rather than a book.

"_Ora che sei venuta, che con passo di danza sei entrata nella mia vita quasi folata in una stanza chiusa – a festeggiarti, bene tanto atteso, le parole mi mancano e la voce e tacerti vicino già mi basta. Il pigolìo così che assorda il bosco al nascere dell'alba,ammutolisce quando sull'orizzonte balza il sole..._"

"Hayato," Yamamoto whispers as sleep begins to snag his consciousness, "you're amazing."

Gokudera scoffs and Yamamoto feels his fingertips brush over his hairline and across his eyebrows, winding sensation down his spine.

"_Ma te la mia inquietudine cercava_," he continues, fondly tracing over Yamamoto's features until Yamamoto can only hear the words trailing in the distance and the vibration of words have become just a hum, "_quando ragazzo nella notte d'estate mi facevo alla finestra come soffocato: che non sapevo, m'affannava il cuore. E tutte tue sono le parole che, come l'acqua all'orlo che trabocca, alla bocca venivano da sole, l'ore deserte,quando s'avanzavan puerilmente le mie labbra d'uomo da sé, per desiderio di baciare._"

The one thing Yamamoto won't recall when he awakes the next morning was how he had thought the words Gokudera spoke seemed to have had a lot more sincerity to them than just words on paper.


End file.
